by Kate Rhodes
She looks thoughtful when I turn away. The idea of her leaving makes me uneasy; I need to know she’s safe, even if she’s out of bounds.
I walk straight to Tide Cottage to fulfil my first unpleasant obligation of the day. Jenna says little when I give her the news that Laura’s case is closing, but her expression contains a mixture of fury and disappointment as she wishes me a curt goodbye. It’s a relief to escape into the fresh air again, passing the Helyers’ farm as I head north, with their goats bleating loudly at me, hoping for an extra meal. Grief is still etched on Gwen Trescothick’s face when she welcomes me to her cottage. Matt is standing in the kitchen, his sullen expression more suitable for a teenager than a full-grown man. His tense gestures remind me of a grenade about to detonate. It seems to require supreme effort to unbend enough to sit at his mother’s table. He only meets my eye after I’ve stared at him for a full minute.
‘Laura’s case is closing today, Matt, after the public meeting. I thought you should know.’
He gives me a guarded look. ‘You’ve found the killer?’
‘Madron thinks Danny took her life, before ending his own.’
‘You don’t agree?’
‘I can’t challenge the decision, but we haven’t found his body. There’s no categorical proof that’s what happened.’
Suddenly Matt pitches forwards in his seat, face two shades paler as I help him through to the lounge. The end of the case seems to have broken through his defences at last. His mother and I sit either side of him as he weeps openly, his sobbing powerful enough to convince me that this is the first time he’s released his emotions since Laura died, whether he’s guilty or innocent. The room still feels like a shrine; photos of his daughter crowding the mantelpiece between flickering candles. It crosses my mind that he could be weeping tears of relief that the police are withdrawing without anyone blaming him. After a few minutes, his outburst fades to a murmur and Gwen follows me into the hall.
‘Thanks for telling us, Ben,’ she says quietly.
‘I was sorry to hear about Matt’s marriage ending.’
‘It’s for the best.’ The old woman gives a crisp nod. ‘Jenna’s made him miserable for years.’
After we say goodbye, I’m left to process my thoughts. Gwen Trescothick must be one of very few islanders to blame Jenna for her son’s unhappiness, given the public falls from grace that have undermined his hero status. I’m still standing on the path when Angie Helyer beckons to me from her back door.
‘Come in for a drink,’ she calls.
I’ve kept my distance since Jim’s confession about his feelings for Laura, but it’s impossible to refuse her invitation. The farmhouse is far roomier than Gwen Trescothick’s doll’s house: the kitchen is high-ceilinged and airy by comparison, yet the atmosphere is suffocating. Jim is seated at the pine table, spooning cereal into his daughter’s mouth, reluctant to meet my eye. Angie offers me coffee then asks for news of Danny, but I can only give the official version.
‘That’s so sad, Ben. He must have been unbalanced.’
‘Whatever his state of mind, he’s still to blame. Laura didn’t deserve to die.’ Jim delivers the words with a scowl.
‘I know,’ she snaps back at him. ‘But Danny must have been ill to hurt her, mustn’t he?’
My old classmate soon regains his calm, but his outburst makes me wonder if he’s still brooding over the past, despite his confession. He could have crept out of the house to hunt for Danny, still jealous, even though the girl’s dead. I finish my coffee fast and thank them, before getting to my feet. Whatever the outcome of the case, relationships I’ve trusted all my life are being tested to the limit.
Eddie is packing away evidence files, a dejected look on his face, when I return to the hall.
‘Help me carry those boxes to mine, can you, Eddie? I’ll tell the DCI I need another week to sign off the paperwork.’
His eyebrows rise. ‘You think he’ll agree?’
‘He won’t have a choice.’
We cart three large boxes to the cottage. There’s no sign of Nina or the dog, but her quiet fragrance hangs on the air. My deputy stands in the doorway surveying the evidence: her tennis shoes are paired by the door, a brightly coloured scarf draped over the arm of the settee. He’s too polite to question our living arrangements. Those keen eyes would make him a good detective, but he’s unlikely to progress if he remains in the islands’ tiny force. The prospect of returning to his regular beat on Tresco tomorrow could explain his low mood. His expression only brightens when he pauses outside the cottage to check his phone.
‘Good news?’ I ask.
When he thrusts the screen at me, there are only a few whorls and scratches on the black background. But on closer inspection, I can make out the baby’s head curling forwards, the vertebra’s dotted line, minute fists raised high. The scan shows a child prepared to enter the world fighting.
‘That’s amazing, Eddie. Is it a girl or a boy?’
‘Girl.’ His grin widens. ‘Michelle had her first scan today.’
‘Why didn’t you go with her?’
‘My sergeant’s exams are coming up; I can’t skip work for every antenatal appointment.’
‘I’d have insisted you took the day off.’
Eddie’s shocked expression makes me wonder if he sees me as an automaton, coldly doing my job.
We work together, laying out chairs for the public meeting at the community hall. The fact that we can complete the task in silence makes me realise we’ve melded into an unlikely team, shared frustration bonding us at last. I should be relieved that our duties are over, but too many questions remain unanswered.
It’s two o’clock when Madron arrives. The DCI seems so pleased with the outcome that he accepts me retaining the paperwork without complaint. When the islanders arrive, I try to be fatalistic; the case has no satisfactory resolution, but at least my protest has been lodged. My final duty is to keep the sneer off my face while Madron addresses the packed room.
‘Your community spirit has been exceptional. I’m sure your support has helped the victims’ families, but we may never fully understand why this popular young couple died so needlessly. Laura was stabbed then cast into the sea; days later her boyfriend left home voluntarily in the middle of the night, items of his clothing washed up on the beach. We have to assume that he took his own life after suffering mental distress. Given the circumstances, we have decided not to pursue the case further. From now on, the hall will return to general use and all travel restrictions are lifted.’
The islanders look stunned, as if the gangplank they’ve been walking has suddenly been withdrawn. Some of their faces register relief, others anger at being left without answers. My uncle is beside Maggie, his neutral expression indicating that he’s accepted Madron’s conclusions. Angie Helyer sits by herself, weeping quietly, exhaustion or the sadness of the case overtaking her. The grieving families are both absent. The DCI addresses me on his way out, voice so low only I can hear.
‘It’s finished, Kitto. If you carry on digging, I’ll tell your seniors about insubordination. Let the island get back to business. Do you understand?’
Madron’s eyes are as cold as permafrost when he says goodbye.
42
By dusk, I’m a free agent. I should be elated that the weight has suddenly lifted from my shoulders, but loose ends have always troubled me. I’m stranded in an empty hall, with my hands tied firmly behind my back. Soon the island will flood with journalists, keen to milk the locals for information. The idea makes me kick the wall hard enough to send a hairline crack through the plaster, a jolt of pain travelling up my shin.
The temperature dips sharply when I leave, darkness enveloping the island. I turn up my collar and consider going home, but there’s no point until I’ve decided what to tell Nina, so I head for the pub instead. The bar is deserted, apart from Dean Miller in the corner, hunched over his drink. A raft of familiar smells comfort me: the sweetness of stale be
er, furniture polish, meat roasting in the kitchen. Luckily, the one person I want to see is easy to find. Maggie is hooking a bottle of vodka to an optic, grey hair a riot of curls, her small hands a blur of activity.
‘Drowning your sorrows, sweetheart?’
‘That’s my plan. Double whisky, please.’
She serves me cranberry juice. ‘Booze won’t help you tonight.’
‘You’re wrong, Maggie. I want to be comfortably numb.’
‘That’s no answer.’ Her eyes sharpen. ‘You need to stay alert. How can Madron just walk away? The families need answers, for God’s sake.’
Her righteous indignation doesn’t help. She’s so angry her voice fills the room, but the DCI will get me sacked if I pursue the case. The cranberry juice is sharp enough to sour my mood even further.
‘Can I have some food to take home?’
‘For you and Nina?’ Her eyebrows rise.
‘Don’t go there, Maggie. It’s not how it looks.’
‘I’m not saying a word. Give me a minute, I’ll see what I can do.’
Dean Miller sways towards me when she disappears. It looks like he’s been downing booze all afternoon, movements unsteady when he settles on a bar stool. Up close, the damage from Matt’s attack still shows on his face; raw bruises shadowing his eye, cheekbone puffy, a cut healing on his upper lip. But his injuries haven’t stopped him working, his fingers still grimed with a rainbow of stains.
‘None of you do your damned jobs properly.’ Behind the boozed-up rage, his tone is mournful. ‘I’m too mad to think straight.’
‘With Matt?’
‘Of course not. Bruises heal, don’t they?’ He leans forward, bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. ‘People on Bryher are being terrorised.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Rose Austell stayed at mine last night, in a terrible state.’
‘About Sam?’
‘It’s worse than that. No one’s helping her.’
‘I’ll drop by her cabin soon. Her son told me he visits your studio sometimes. Is that true?’
Miller’s forehead creases into a frown. ‘The kid came to see Laura. It had nothing to do with me.’
‘They were at yours a few days before she died. Did you hear them talking?’
‘I never listen when I’m painting, that’s why I play music. We only talk if they catch me on a break. Sam’s a difficult boy, not like Danny.’
It looks like he’s about to share something vital, but the moment passes when Maggie reappears. I make a mental note to visit Rose tomorrow, even though the case is over. My godmother passes me a carrier bag large enough to feed a large family, waving away my thanks. I offer to walk Dean home, still curious about his cryptic statements, but the artist loses strength as we leave the pub. I have to grab his arm to stop him falling down the steps. Our conversation comes to a standstill as we cross the shore, his eyes fixed on the sea. The tide is at its height, waves battering the granite.
‘So much loss,’ he mutters. ‘I can hardly bear to look.’
The statement sounds odd from a man who’s made his living copying the waves, yet I know what he means. On a good day, the winter tide feels majestic, hurling itself at the island with full force, but the assault can feel relentless. It’s a relief to deliver Dean to his house. He reels inside, too drunk to bother saying goodnight.
It’s eight o’clock by the time I find Nina curled in an armchair at home, no sign of Shadow. A novel is balanced on her lap; she’s wearing sensible black-framed reading glasses, which fail to disguise the sexiness of her face, especially that full-lipped mouth. When she studies me over the top of them, I’m lost for words.
‘Food smells good, Ben.’
‘Curry, I think, probably stone cold by now.’
She follows me to the kitchen, switching on the oven, laying the table with quiet competence. It’s her silence that I find so unsettling. The meal Billy has provided is an Indian feast: chicken tikka masala, Bombay aloo, naan bread, daal. But Nina ignores the food on her plate, taking a slow sip of wine.
‘You still seem angry, Ben.’
‘I’m that easy to read?’
‘Most times.’ Her slow smile emerges. ‘Your frown travels before you.’
‘The reason’s obvious, isn’t it? A boy’s missing and a girl’s dead, but if I carry on hunting for the killer, I’ll get fired. All I know for sure is that Danny was too focused on avenging his girlfriend to top himself, and someone saw Laura climbing Gweal Hill before work. The killer was familiar with both of their patterns.’
Nina listens to me vent my frustration as we finish the meal, the curry spicy enough to leave a tang of heat. ‘The violence is so raw. Whoever did it must be in serious pain.’
‘Or mentally ill?’
‘Maybe a combination of both.’
‘Great. So it’s a nutter with anger issues.’
‘We all lash out when we feel let down. That kind of grievance makes people lose control.’
‘I hate leaving things unfinished.’
‘Think you can forget it for a while?’
‘It’s worth a try.’
I follow her to the living room, watch her stretch out on the floor, back settled against the settee. It still strikes me as odd that she’s survived so much pain unharmed. I want to touch her more than ever, to borrow some of that deep-rooted calm.
‘You still haven’t explained why I make you tense.’ She faces me, eyes glittering with firelight.
‘My timing’s wrong, isn’t it? I arrived too early. You don’t need me pursuing you.’
The bravado of my twenties has deserted me, when I chased whatever I wanted without hesitation. I expected my statement to close the matter once and for all, but she leans closer, her forearm brushing mine.
‘I can look after myself, Ben.’
‘You’ve proved that already.’ I touch the tips of her hair, my index finger following the clean line of her jaw.
‘I did something today that I should have done weeks ago.’
‘What?’
‘Phoned my parents. Mum cried her eyes out; it made me realise I’ve been selfish. She must feel like she’s lost us both.’
When I reach for her she slips into my arms without hesitation, but a sound picks up outside. I can hear Shadow scratching at the door, followed by an ear-splitting howl. Nina pulls away, laughing.
‘He’s got great timing.’
‘I’d better let him in, or he’ll wake the whole island.’
Zoe appears on the doorstep as Shadow bounds inside, wearing a broad smile, a bottle of champagne in each hand. She steals my place beside Nina, explaining that she’s had good news. An international talent agency in London has agreed to represent her. Before long, she could be singing torch songs in some glamorous bar in New York, while a replacement manager runs the hotel. On an ordinary day I’d be delighted to have two beautiful women getting drunk in my living room, but right now one would be plenty. It’s clear they’ve formed a connection, Nina greeting Zoe’s excited gabble with a serene smile. It’s one o’clock when I finally go to bed alone, leaving Shadow lying between the two women, paws in the air, as if he’s landed in paradise.
43
Zoe is draped across the settee when I get up, a champagne bottle empty at her side, which makes me feel better. Her hangover will be fair punishment for spoiling my chances. The sky is playing make-believe when I exit the house at 8 a.m., its shade a pallid summer blue even though the wind feels icy. Shadow is at my side, tongue lolling. Being canine seems enviably simple; no loyalties, except to the last person that fed you a square meal.
‘Stay indoors.’ I open the door and nudge him back inside. Nina and Zoe will fuss over him for hours while I walk off my frustration.
Oystercatchers are out in force on the beach, mincing over the shingle on matchstick legs, releasing their high-pitched screams. The wind is gusting harder than yesterday, the sea ridged with whitecaps. I can’t help wondering where Danny
is now. Have the waves carried him deep into the Atlantic, or is he hiding somewhere, out of view? When I look up again, a light sparks in the corner of my eye. The black-coated figure is there again, on Gweal Hill, back turned. This time I’m determined to catch him, even though my job’s over. I know from previous attempts that I can’t outpace him, so stealth is my only option. I climb the hill slowly, to avoid startling him. The figure is still visible, but a single sound will send him running. I pick my way carefully through the loose shale to avoid sending rocks skittering down the cliff face. When I reach the top, he’s standing in the same spot, his hair concealed by a grey woollen cap, black coat flapping in the wind. I don’t make a sound. He’s so close to the edge, a sudden shock could send him tumbling off the cliff. My jaw drops open when the figure finally turns around. The baggy clothes had me fooled: it’s Suzanne Trescothick, the girl’s face blanched by the cold. I step out as she heads for the path, binoculars clutched in her hand.
‘This is a surprise, Suzie.’ She tries to escape, but I catch her arm, her shoulders twisting away from me. ‘It was you each time, wasn’t it? You were up here when we found Laura’s body.’
Her voice sounds rusty, like a hinge creaking open. ‘I climb the hill sometimes, to get fresh air.’
‘What were you doing here, when your sister was found?’
The wind is stronger now, her coat billowing with each gust. ‘I couldn’t stay in the house, but when I saw her, my mind shut down. I just waited until someone came.’
‘Why did you run away on Badplace Hill?’
‘I’d gone out without telling dad. I thought he’d be angry.’ Her face crumples into tears.
‘There’s something else.’ It still looks like she could flee at any minute, so I settle my hand on her shoulder. ‘I need to know what you and Laura were doing.’
‘Don’t make me say it.’ She wipes her sleeve across her face, the gesture so childlike, pity almost dilutes my suspicions. ‘They’ll never forgive me.’
‘Of course they will. At your age the worst I’ll give you is a caution.’
